


Two Hunters Both Alike in Dignity

by SoPHiasideas



Category: League of Legends
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-02 19:46:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11516187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoPHiasideas/pseuds/SoPHiasideas
Summary: Looking to receive recognition of the new Bilgewater Union's sovereignty, Sarah Fortune journeys to Ionia, and ends up in more than just political troubles.





	Two Hunters Both Alike in Dignity

Sarah leaned over the railing on the stern of the Syren, smoking and looking out at the horizon. It was dusk, and she was watching for the green flash, like every believing sailor. She exhaled, making sure to direct her smoke out of her line of sight, just in case the flash game this time. They’d be in Ionia by the morning, should all hold up as planned. She took one last drag, watching the sun dip below the horizon and giving a smoky sigh. Maybe tomorrow night, she told herself, and turned on her heel to return to her cabin. She would need the rest, meeting with statespeople was annoying on its own, even without the language barriers that Ionia would provide. It was for Bilgewater, the state she was building from the ground up after being in such disarray for so long, and sacrifices had to be made. She yawned, stabbing the butt of her cigarette into a tray of sand and stretching before flopping on the bed. It wouldn’t take long for her to fall asleep, but how long would she stay asleep was the real concern.

Golden eyes pierced through the darkness, nose twitching as Ahri sniffed. Fresh meat, the flesh of wicked men. It was all she could stomach anymore, no longer able to kill and consume as freely as she once had. She was too human now, too empathetic, but not human enough to be sustained by anything other than human flesh and souls. And so she became what many Ionians believed was a new, vengeful, demon. Perhaps she was a demon, she thought for a moment, before shaking the thoughts away. Existentialism could wait, she needed to feed. In one fluid motion she leapt over the bush, directly into the path of her prey, and hissed in the terrified man’s face. She could see in his eyes that he was startled, but the grip on his knife, and the bag of gold he’d only hours ago killed for, remained steady as he planted his feet, wordlessly challenging her to try to stop him. Ahri obliged, pouncing and catching his wrist as he tried for a wide swipe with the blade.

It was easy to topple the man, bag and coins spilling to the side as she pinned him down, one hand holding his mouth open as she met his eyes, drawing breath, tapping into his mind, his soul, and drawing it out from his core. His eyes, wild and fearful as he realized what was happening, slowly faded into the dull of lifelessness. Ahri sighed, releasing her grip as she considered the knife and bag that had brought this man to his fate. It seemed so trivial, bits of metal, were they really worth killing another person for? There may be some things about humans she would never understand. After a few moments, her fingers tore into the man’s chest, lifting meat and blood to her mouth as she hungrily stuffed herself. In minutes, the man’s chest was shredded and emptied, his organs torn and ribs snapped where necessary. Ahri stood up, wiping her mouth and flicking the blood onto the ground beside her. Another kill, another night satisfied.

Sarah drew in breath, the sea, driftwood smoke, roasting fish. The smell of home, drawing her into feelings of comfort and safety. She opened her eyes, instantly dashing those sensations. The driftwood smoke came from the walls of her own home, the fish having fallen into the fire. Her mother stood at what served as their door, shouting angrily and brandishing a knife at a tall, burly man with cruelty in his eyes and a torch in his hand. Something about water, her mother’s dress. Their argument faded as the scene shifted to a bar in the Grey Harbor, door being pounded by the vengeant dead as Sarah and her small crew took shelter from the black mist. The windows burst, the sound of hooves and battle bursting in with thick tendrils of the corruption. She stood up, getting a glimpse of the demon that had come that night, Hecarim himself. The moment before she met his eyes, the door burst down.

Sarah sat straight up, in cold sweat, tears on her face. The nightmares, again. Always nightmares. It’d been weeks since her last decent sleep. Ever since that night in the grey harbor, she’d been caught between drinking herself into a stupor, or waking every night. It was killing her, between the alcohol and the exhaustion, and she knew it. She sighed, reaching over to the nightstand and grabbing the half-empty bottle of whisky from the previous night. Taking a hearty swig, she wiped her face with the sheet and took a deep breath. A few moments and drinks more, the empty bottle shattered against the wall just over her wastebasket as she lay back down, praying to the Bearded Lady to give her peace.


End file.
